Katazin didn’t like the sound of this. It was essential for their operation to have four days of protests at a minimum. That would focus people’s attention away from potential military action as well as tie up resources. This was one of the easiest parts of the operation, and now it was taking a turn.
Katazin said, “Let’s meet sometime in the morning. You keep your people organizing and stirring up new protesters.”
“This isn’t a money thing. It’s a real problem. That is why I called.”
“If I’m able to pay you an additional twenty thousand dollars, will we have some loud protests outside Thomas Brothers Financial?”
There was a long hesitation, then, “Probably.”
“Then it is a money problem.”
Major Anton Severov felt it was smarter to take his conversation with the clearly agitated Amir out of the dining room and onto the sidewalk. Once they were safely outside, Severov calmly asked Amir what he wanted to talk about.
The smaller man bowed up, trying to look tough, but his rumpled pullover shirt with its collar partway up and out-of-date blue pants that looked like they belonged to a suit made him more of a caricature. His black hair was slicked back by some ungodly-smelling ointment, but he still had that crazed look in his brown eyes. This wasn’t the same Amir who had merely been irritating for the last two days; this was a man who was truly pissed off.
Severov took a half step away from the angry Iranian and said, “What’s wrong, Amir?”
“I have been honest in my feelings about Russia, as well as the United States. I think you are both decadent and about to be crushed under the wheels of history. But at this moment I’m sworn to help your cause. I must warn you I will not tolerate you defiling our women.”
“Defiling your women? I’m sure I have no idea what you’re talking about.” He quickly glanced around the sidewalk in front of the hotel’s café in case he needed a weapon. There was nothing within reach.
Amir said, “You know exactly what I am talking about. You and Fannie lay together last night, and it is an affront to our beliefs.”
“My beliefs, my people’s beliefs, include the right of free will and a woman’s choice. Don’t lecture me about decisions I make about my personal life. And I will tell you right now not to bother Fannie about it, either.”
“You think I’m some kind of desert nomad. An idiot you can twist around with silly phrases. I am a graduate of the Lebanese University.”
Severov had to keep from bursting out laughing at that. In a mocking tone he said, “Ohh, Lebanese University, I am impressed. I’ve heard it called the Oxford of shitty universities in the Third World.” He could tell it took the little Iranian a few seconds to understand the odd American idiom, but when he did, his dark face flushed red and he stormed away from the hotel.
Severov realized it might not have been the smartest thing to do, but it sure felt good. He wondered how much he’d appreciate it when he had to watch his back the rest of the trip.
The hotel Walsh had found was everything he thought it would be: cheap, uncomfortable, smelly, and two blocks from Times Square. The Hanely Hotel was a narrow swath of sixty rooms wedged between an office building and a storage facility. It catered to tourists on a real budget or Europeans who didn’t check reviews. The nice thing was that Walsh and Alena seemed to be the only customers, and the clerk understood that an extra twenty bucks meant he wouldn’t ask for ID. The kid from the Bronx even said Walsh and Alena didn’t look like “wild-assed terrorists,” so he didn’t think there would be a problem.
They got settled in their room, which held a queen bed with the headboard pushed against the wall and about a foot of space around it on the other three sides. Alena was in no mood for small talk or cuddling once she was done showering in the minuscule bathroom and flopped into the bed wearing only a white towel with a brown stain in the middle.
Now Walsh was thinking tactically, and he liked the corner room that had access to a stairwell directly across from it or the elevators in the middle of the hallway. Looking out the window from the fourth floor, he could see the street below and anyone walking toward the front of the hotel. He had somehow managed to keep the pistol from Alena’s sight and hoped he didn’t have to explain it. He folded it into his pants and left them on the nightstand as he lay down in bed wearing his undershirt and underwear. Alena was snoring quietly a few minutes after the lights went out.
Walsh tossed and turned as he considered what had happened. He wished he could talk to his three best friends from his time in the marines. Mike Rosenberg was already helping him, and he knew Bill Shepherd probably had his hands full on the base in Germany. He wondered how Ronald Jackson would have viewed the situation. Each of them had strengths and weaknesses, but together they seemed to form the perfect team.
Ronald Jackson had devoted his life to the marines and knew every policy forward and back. He was the bedrock of their friendship. He also had an uncanny ability to locate the best activities during their leaves. A day in a Mediterranean port city and Ron could create enough good times to remember for a lifetime.
Michael Rosenberg was the smartest of the bunch. Perhaps “smart” was not the right word. He was clever, tricky. He had a way of viewing situations and looking at things that no one else would consider. He could piece together fragments of information into a simple report any grunt on the frontline could understand.
Despite his Boy Scout appearance and perpetually shaggy hair, at least for a marine, Bill Shepherd remained calm and unflappable in every possible situation. His demeanor was the same when they were having dinner as it was when they were under fire from an enemy mortar. His clear-headed thinking had saved them a number of times.
That made Walsh take a hard look at himself to figure out what he added to the group. It was clear, perhaps not heroic or sexy but obvious: He was organized. Not in a simple, keeping-things-clean kind of way but from the very basis of his being. He could look at anything and understand how it could be sorted or displayed. No one looked at someone who was good with numbers as heroic, but they always needed him around. He could put together a spreadsheet or expense record and make anyone understand how money was spent. But now, in his current situation, he had to look within himself and discover if he could do more. Maybe this was the kind of test he had expected his whole life. Instead, he had skated from one situation to another without any real hardship.
It looked like those days were over now.
Severov had been unnerved by his conversation with Amir. He needed to talk to someone he could relate to. It was a little early to be calling on the special cell phone he’d been provided. It was supposed to connect him directly to his commanding officer, who had sent him on this crazy mission in the first place. He was surprised to hear a different voice pick up the phone. It took him a minute to recognize the Georgian accent and realize it was the colonel’s adjunct, a Muslim officer who had barely given Severov the time of day.
Severov said, “I need to speak to the colonel.”
“He’s busy. He said you can give me your report and I’ll pass it on to him.”
“Why would I give a report to you? He’s my commanding officer. Give the phone to him now or be prepared to explain to him later why he received no report.”
He heard grunts and then a long pause before the colonel came on the phone. The colonel was in a typical jolly mood and seemed to have more questions about Severov’s trip and how pretty the girls in Estonia were than about the tactical issues he had been sent to study.